One Twisted Father's Day
by HeathcliffLover13
Summary: Here's to all the Father's out there! Particularly those with a twisted nature... (Undertaker x Trucy ship; I own none of the characters, apart from Jaelynn and I hope those who read it enjoy this short one shot!)


Isn't it strange how one person can flip your world upside-down? Isn't it bizarre how your perception can be altered in a matter of moments?

I was raised in a family where love; honesty; law and happiness were all a crucial part of life. Of course, two of these factors remain unaltered inside of my heart. Though, admittedly they can be perceived as somewhat tainted. Tainted love? Perhaps…

Regardless, today is Father's Day and it shall be celebrated normally… Right?

…

I awoke to find him by my side; eyes covered by his white bangs that act as a quilt over his eyes… He does not have his cloak on.

If you presumed the reaper to constantly wear a cloak – consider yourself incorrect. Honestly, you could have crossed a number of demons in the street and known no different. Ah… Human ignorance at its finest!

Even in his sleep the worthiest of Undertaker's smiles; though it is much gentler in comparison to that wicked grin that once charmed me away from the 'normality' of society. I would go into grander detail, but that is a story for another day; maybe a beautiful story for our little Jaelynn…

Jaelynn, you ask? Our darling daughter. Please, do try to keep up. Honestly, any slower and you'll be slower than a corpses heart…

She was born on April 1st. I suppose it could be considered a joke, couldn't it? Death himself providing the world with life. Ha. Even to this day I find myself amused by such a statement; of course, I am eternally grateful to have been granted love and happiness in two different forms.

Slowly, my eyes wandered to glance at my watch. 10:00am. We had a busy day ahead; a day full of plentiful surprises; a day full of happiness – for us.

Silently, I clamber out of bed to check on little Jaelynn who had slept through calmly through the night (much to my own surprise). She normally finds great pleasure in screeching the street awake; getting her hands on a tome and setting streets ablaze or grinning to the point of discomfort, because you know she has something mischievous planned, just as her father normally would… Come to think of it, you could even say she gets that from me.

I dress; bathe and tidy her up – not in that order – before collecting my own items of clothing, which includes: my red scarf; blue dress; magical, blue hat and my trusty axe, stained with blood amidst other substances; none of which that are quite as exhilarating. Both of us ready, I awaken the sleeping man, who seems to resemble Count Dracula.

Count Dracula lacking most clothing, that is.

He does not awaken, and so I whisper in his ear: "Salt…" Of course, he sharply awakens, hoping and praying to be stuck in yet another jar; feeling his bloodstream slowly filling with salt as opposed to water. He says it is therapeutic; I say it is draining; we laugh.

"Get dressed, dear. We have to go out to pick up some salad." I lied, brushing my hair out of my face, before stepping aside to allow the man to haul himself out of bed and throw on his traditional cloak. His face seems saddened from my 'forgetful' nature, that much I could establish. If I just listened to his tone, I would say otherwise, but after this long period of marriage... Of course, I can recognise each and every emotion.

Once again, this is not a sicking love story of two people who were designed to be 'soulmates', but rather a story of two complete opposites who bring out the worst (and best) of one another.

Keys in hand, I begin to lead all three of us on a walk. Little Jaelynn is held in her father's arms. She enjoys being held by him. Maybe it is the fact he lacks a pulse; maybe it's because he is often cold to the touch; maybe it's because he is considerably taller than her and she can see to a greater distance or perhaps it is just because she can feel the love resonating from the entirety of his being. Once again, how ironic for Death to almost act in a way Cupid would – almost.

We walk for a while, until we do reach the market. It is booming this Sunday: fruit and vegetable stalls; cheap DVD stalls; clothing stalls and many other stalls, just in a small attempt to make a living. I stop just before the vegetable stall, before turning to my husband – Undertaker – and our daughter, Jaelynn.

"Happy Father's Day!" I sound cheerful with each word, and slowly his grin widens. It widens further when his eyes lay on the axe that I had – amazingly – hid from him all the way here. It was then he knew: Trucy Wright was not here to do some mere fruit and vegetable shopping; Trucy Wright was not here to mock him or to provide Jaelynn with something healthy (for once). She was here to stay and she was here to make her family happy…

I take off my hat and soon pull out a tome, handing that to our little Jaelynn, who happily took that into her tiny hands. Her little fingers wrap around the miniature tome, as she giggles as insanely as her father would.

Speaking of which, his grin was considerably darker; his head was tilted downwards in a way that always makes him seem considerably more villainous and his hand was clenched onto his scythe… Sharpened and shaped to perfection – or at least as close as to perfection as it could be.

Moments later, and the three of us found ourselves dancing with other people's lives. Red paint was spilling over the large canvas beneath our feet and our weapons were three different brushes. His was fine and precise; each stroke as swift and accurate as the last. Our Jaelynn's was messy, perfect for a small child! Mine? I suppose it was the medium sized brush: capable of covering a canvas in large splodges of red, but also capable of precision – to a certain extent.

Cabbage leaves, fruit seeds, ripped leather, partial petals and lone limbs are just some of the remains after our… Art project.

How this man got my father's permission still amazes me, but goodness I'm glad he did.

My smile is wide, all of ours are. His laugh is loud and our leg moments were rapid. We were going without a trace; we were disappearing out of sight and we were going against honesty and law…

He flipped my world upside-down with this insanity; a child and complete opposition to every moral… But, in return I did the same, providing him with love and happiness, something he thought he would never find.

'For better or for worse,' the priest had said. I say, thank you for both and may every parent pray we do not cross their path on Father's Day, otherwise…

Let's just say your special day will be turned upside-down; only to be remembered within a temporary piece of artwork, and the artists? They will forever remain unknown.


End file.
